


Black Friday: The Unauthorised Novelisation

by Locryn



Category: Black Friday - Team StarKid
Genre: (I'm making it a thing...), (is that even a thing?), Canon Expansion, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Tom Houston doesn't have flashbacks, Tom Houston has PTSD, Tom Houston seems like a bad dad but he tries, copious amounts of headcanon, dysfunctional relationships everywhere, he remembers bad things vividly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:20:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23652241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Locryn/pseuds/Locryn
Summary: It's basically essentially what the title says; it's the show...but in novelised form.Further character/relationship/additional tags/warnings will be added with later chapters.
Relationships: Paul Matthews/Emma Perkins, Tom Houston/Jane Perkins
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So it turns out quarantine does weird things to creativity... Basically my friend was bored and challenged me to do this. I have no idea if it's going to be at all good or if it's going to go completely off-the-rails at some point (personally, my money's on the latter), but it seemed like a good idea at the time.
> 
> I have absolutely no affiliation to Starkid in any way beyond being a fan. Hence why this is "unauthorised".

_He’s a wiggly-snig, and a sniggly-wiggly,  
A fwendy-wend that makes you giggly!  
He’s an underwater creature from out of this world.  
A bestest fwendy-wend to all the boys and girls.  
He’s a wiggly-snig and a snuggle-poo,  
And he’ll wiggle-wiggle-wiggle-wiggle-wiggle-wiggle-wiggle with you!_

The advert had been playing over and over for weeks, on radio, on TV, on the internet, on practically anything that had a speaker to play it.

_His name is Wiggly, and he’s here to stay!  
His belly’s squishy, puts a smile on your face!  
Just tickle his belly-well and he will say:  
“I wuv you!”  
Tickle Tickle-Me Wiggly!_

An incredibly catchy jingle combined with some of the most bizarrely surreal yet oddly hypnotic imagery: an odd fisherman-type man known as ‘Uncle Wiley’ who was surrounded by incredibly fluffy and far too adorable singing and dancing green **things** …

_Come on kids, time to gather round!  
There’s an underwater creature that’ll turn that frown.  
He’s a fwendy-wend through thick and blue  
Cos Wiggly wiggles with you!_

It was an advert that was somehow simultaneously nostalgic and unlike anything anyone had seen and heard before, and most importantly, it was **hypnotic**.

_Rub his belly-well, bounce him up and down,  
Tell him that you love how he wiggles with you!  
He’s all that you wanted, he’s all that you needed  
In this holiday season.  
This holiday season, now you’ve got a reason  
For fwends to come and pway!_

When it came on, everyone stopped to listen and sing along until the vast majority of the population could think of very little else other than the fact that the Tickle-Me Wiggly doll would be in stores come Black Friday for only $49.95.

_You brush his hair with a comb, his body’s made out of foam  
That’s certified laundry-safe.  
When Wiggly takes over, your hearts and souls  
Girls, boys, the world will be a  
Playground full of magic and sniggle-songs,  
And when you’re feeling down he’s there to sing along!_

And as the eponymous day approached, lines outside stores began to form much earlier than they had in previous years. No one in line asked anyone else what they were hoping to buy; no one needed to. They were all there for the same reason.

_He’s a wiggly-snig, and a best fwend too!  
And he’ll wiggle, wiggle,  
He’ll wiggle, wiggle,  
He’ll wiggle his way to life!_

Dozens, hundreds, **thousands** all across the country, all queuing with the certainty that they would be spending fifty dollars on the best Christmas presents for their children that money could possibly buy.

_On this Black Friday, he will hit the shelves!  
He’s riding Santa’s sleigh, cos he’s fwends with all the elves!  
So sniggle your stocking up  
For these days of twelve.  
This Christmas wiggle with Wiggly!  
Wiggle-wiggle-wiggle-wiggle  
Wiggle your way through life!_

And deep in the black, a beast began to smile as it felt its time approaching. This day would be the beginning, and the end would be quick to follow. And no power on earth could stop it.

* * *

_He’s a wiggly-snig, and a sniggly-wiggly,  
A fwendy-wend that makes you –_

Paul Matthews abruptly turned off the radio with a soft huff of sheer annoyance and glared moodily out of the car window, ignoring as his girlfriend clearly struggled not to laugh at his behavior and vowing to hold in his complaints. He lasted roughly three seconds on that front. “How many times are they gonna keep playing that ad?!” he asked in rhetorical exasperation.

“I dunno,” she responded with a slight shrug, her tone indicating just how little she actually cared about the answer. Truth be told, Emma Perkins was quite grateful to be rid of the horrendously upbeat and far too catchy jingle. Besides, Black Friday was here now; by the end of the day the Wiggly dolls would all have been sold, it seemed more than a little redundant to keep advertising them…

“Emma, you know how I feel about that musical commercial.” Paul was working himself up now – after all, this particular matter was something he could speak about with enormous passion and to great lengths, and he often did exactly that. “I don’t like it. And I’ll tell why, it –”

“Paul, I don’t care.” It wasn’t going to stop him – Emma knew from painful experience that absolutely nothing could stop Paul when he got going like this, especially when it came to the possibility of ranting about anything musical-related – but she felt like it needed to be said nonetheless as she braced herself for the oncoming tsunami of complaints about the various failings of modern society according to Paul.

“It’s these advertising firms with their catchy jingles that worm their way into your brain, brewing up the hype until it boils over…” And he was off. Paul “Y’know, it’s things like Wiggly that make Black Friday the **worst** day of the year!”

“Oh relax, it’s just a toy…” Emma sighed with a roll of her eyes. One of these days, Paul was probably going to end up giving himself a heart attack with all the pointless things he chose to get angry about, and frankly she was seriously debating whether she’d be concerned or wanting to gloat when that time came.

“Cabbage Patch Kids were ‘just toys’,” Paul countered instantly, “and there were **riots** over those things.”

“What?! Why?” Okay, even Emma had to admit that was ridiculous. “What even **is** a Cabbage Patch Kid anyway..?” Oh god…now Paul had her doing it too. “It’s like…you’re cutting into a head of lettuce and oh shit, a baby!” She shook her head in exasperation as she rounded the corner of the road onto a residential street, feeling mildly annoyed at Paul chuckling quietly beside her – she swore she never ranted like this before she met him. He was a bad influence… “It’s like, I wanted a salad but now…I guess I have a child! Just…what’s the appeal there?”

“What’s the appeal with Tamagotchi’s or Beanie Babies..? Or Wiggly?” Paul shook his head with a kind of overly-philosophical despair as the car slowly rolled to a stop. “It’s just mania, Emma. It’s like a spell –”

“Well, we’re here so you can get off your soapbox.” Emma interrupted him smoothly, turning off the engine and unbuckling her seatbelt before turning to Paul, her expression turning serious as she looked at him. “And none of that talk around Tim, okay? He’s only nine, he probably wants a Wiggly more than anything.”

“I promise.” Paul instantly gave a sincere nod and a reassuring smile – it was certainly fun to engage in this kind of negative world view but it had been impossible to miss how much Emma cared about this, even though she’d tried valiantly to pretend it didn’t really mean much in the slightest. He’d be a pretty bad excuse for a boyfriend if he jeopardized it, and on his Coworker Boyfriend Scale which he’d come up with one particularly boring morning at work, he liked to think he was closer to the ‘Bill’ end of the scale in terms of perhaps trying a little too hard rather than the ‘Ted’ end of seemingly going out of his way to be a total shit.

Emma, evidently satisfied, opened the door and climbed out of the car, taking a moment to sip her coffee as she took in the house they were parked in front of. It was nice but nothing particularly special, the somewhat faded blue paint starting to crack a little around the windows and doorway, and the front yard was becoming slightly overgrown, but it wasn’t anything particularly terrifying. Though she supposed that would change in a few moments, and tried to distract herself by moving round to open up the trunk of the car. “And, y’know…if we upset his son, Tom will never invite us round here again.”

“Your brother-in-law’s a bit of a Scrooge, isn’t he..?” Paul’s voice was sympathetic as he went to help get the supplies out of the car.

“Well, the car crash was last Christmas, Paul,” Emma replied with a shrug and a tone that was (and fairly understandably given the circumstances) just on the polite side of snapping as she hauled the large paper carrier bags out of the trunk. “The guy lost his wife.” She let out a sigh as she put the bags down on the sidewalk and slammed the trunk closed, glancing back at Paul whose chastened expression was clashing terribly with his far-too-festive sweater. “I mean, the guy is an asshole, but…he’s the guy Jane married. He and Tim are the only family I have left and I…barely know them.” Emma could feel her throat constricting as she spoke and her eyes came dangerously close to prickling with tears, so she instantly distracted herself with passing one of the bags to Paul. This was all way too heavy for this early on a Friday morning… “I’m done fucking things up. I just need this to work, okay?” She didn’t even wait for a response this time before making her way up the driveway to the door.

“And it will!” Paul insisted as he hurried after her. The earlier pessimism was completely gone; Emma needed the exact opposite of that right now so that was what he would give her. Paul remembered reading once that everyone was born with a unique skill: he’d worked out very quickly that his unique skill was being a perfect example of a human chameleon in action. He could and would be all things to all people, as long as it was what they needed. And right now, Emma needed optimism. It certainly didn’t come naturally to him, but he’d do his fucking best… “ **He** invited **you** over. He wants you to be a part of his life.” He smiled as he saw Emma visibly start to relax and gave himself a mental pat on the back. “Cheer up. It’s Christmastime in Hatchetfield! Isn’t that fun?”

Emma merely responded by turning to give him a vaguely amused look that still told him he was overdoing it and rang the doorbell, leaving the two of them to shiver in silence on the doorstep for a few moments until the door was hauled open.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief warning: this chapter contains mentions/descriptions of the car accident that killed Jane and also contains implications of PTSD. I don't suffer from PTSD but I know someone who does. I tried to write this as sensitively as possible, but I can't say for myself how successful I was in that endeavour. Hopefully, it's not too awful.
> 
> Also, again, I am in no way affiliated with Starkid. All the dialogue is owned by them, I just own the unnecessarily overly descriptive stuff in between said dialogue.

It was only 6.30 in the morning and Tom Houston was already very much not in the best mood. Besides managing to somehow wake up simultaneously earlier than he’d want and later than he’d like, Tim had been ignoring him since he’d come downstairs to find the nine year old still in his pajamas and curled up under a blanket on the couch, watching some weird cartoon that seemed to consist of what could only be described as a blue blob apparently trying to evade capture by a green star and an orange square. When asked about the possibility of eating some breakfast, Tim just shrugged and mumbled that he’d get something “in a bit”, leaving Tom to just sit at the table by himself, eating his toast and becoming increasingly grumpy as the minutes ticked over on the clock on the microwave.

Seriously. He knew that he was kind of an outlier as far as valuing punctuality went, but being half an hour late was ridiculous…

Finally, the doorbell buzzed and Tom let out a sigh that was one third relief that Emma was finally here and one third annoyance that it had taken her so long, with the final third being a pre-emptive bout of disappointment in case it turned out to not be Emma after all. He wolfed down the last of his toast and went to open the door, the disappointment growing as he heard a male voice seeping through the closed door. “Everything’s going to be okay. Okay?”

“Okay.” And that was definitely Emma’s voice. The disappointment vanished to be replaced by the annoyance side of things.

Tom tugged open the door and glared out at the couple standing outside: Emma and some guy he’d never seen before but instantly distrusted if for no other reason than there was absolutely no excuse for wearing a Christmas sweater in November. And there was **certainly** no excuse for looking so damn happy this early on a Friday morning. “You’re late.”

“It’s six-thirty in the morning –“ Emma started, in a tone of voice that suggested she’d been prepared for this kind of greeting. Which only served to make Tom more annoyed.

“Yeah, and I said **six** , but I guess you had to go to Starbucks,” he snapped back, eyeing the polystyrene coffee cup Emma was holding. Neither of them seemed to have any kind of comeback for that so, after a brief period of hugely uncomfortable silence, Tom eventually stood aside and pulled the door open wider to allow them in, turning to make his way back upstairs to finish getting dressed.

For his part, Tim seemed much more grateful to see them than Tom had been, which certainly made Emma feel a bit more comfortable about the whole situation. If Tom kept refusing to play nice, at least she wouldn’t be stuck talking to just Paul… And almost immediately, she found herself needing a distraction from just how mean that thought had seemed. “Hey Tim!” she called, casually picking her way through the general mess that signaled a lack of time and/or energy to clean up properly. It wasn’t as though she could complain about it – her home constantly looked like a bombsite no matter how often she insisted to Paul that everything was exactly where it needed to be.

“Hey Aunt Emma!” Tim scrambled to find the remote to turn off the TV, as well as simultaneously trying to disentangle himself from the blanket he was currently cocooned in, resulting in him almost tumbling off the couch. Eventually, he managed to wiggle free enough to kneel up on the couch and wave shyly to his aunt as she perched on the arm of the couch.

“We missed you at Thanksgiving yesterday, but I heard you and your dad did something pretty cool…” Tim merely stared back at Emma with a blank expression which was somewhat disheartening but Emma continued on in her forced fun tone regardless. “Pizza Pete’s..?”

“Pizza Pete’s?” chimed in Paul as he put the bags down, sounding like a magician hired to do a kid’s birthday party. At least Emma supposed he was trying. “That **is** cool!”

The thing about nine year olds though, which neither Emma nor Paul had fully counted on, was that they tend to be dangerously perceptive and excessively stubborn. And if they had no intention of playing along, no amount of forced happy bordering-on-patronizing tones from well-meaning adults could make them do so. As a result, Paul found himself being looked at dead in the eyes by a boy who seemed to know the exact answer to the question he was about to ask but thought it might be fun to make things even more awkward by asking it anyway: “Who are you?”

“I’m Paul,” he replied, holding his hand out awkwardly before pulling it back. He could have sworn he had never been this awkward when Bill had asked him to watch Alice. “I’m Emma’s…boyfriend.”

“Well we haven’t exactly put a label on it,” Emma immediately spluttered and shook her head, inching away from Paul slightly. And they hadn’t. Not technically, at least. To all intents and purposes, she supposed Paul **was** her boyfriend but that didn’t make the jump to actually saying it was any less personally terrifying for her.

And within a split second, Paul demonstrated exactly why with one incredibly ill-thought out phrase. “But we are intimate.” The sentence hung in the air for a few moments as all three of them processed it. At least Paul had the decency to look as mortified as Emma felt. Tim, on the other hand, look like he wanted to laugh though without the full knowledge of exactly why. “Y-You know, uh, Tim?” Paul stuttered, clearly anxious to brush past his slip-up so they could all pretend he’d never said it. “I used to love going to Pizza Pete’s when I was a kid. I used to love the ball pits, the bumper cars –”

“Yeah. I don’t really like getting hit by cars anymore,” came the inevitable forlorn reply as the boy’s head drooped sadly like a puppy’s when it was being scolded.

God dammit, Paul… As he tried to stammer his way out of that one, Emma decided enough was enough and someone else would have to take charge of the situation. She was annoyed that that someone had to be her, but anything would clearly be better than allowing Paul to continue digging his own grave. “That stuff’s for little kids anyway,” she said, reaching out to gently nudge Tim’s shoulder, prompting him to look up at her. “Pizza Pete’s is all about the games, right..?”

Tim’s eyes instantly lit up and he nodded with a certain relative amount of happiness which sent twin waves of relief flooding through the adults. “Mom and I used to play Zombie House, but Dad can’t. Cos he’s not supposed to own a gun. Not even a fake one. He gets flashbacks –”

“What are you telling them?” Tom’s gruff shout prompted all three of them to turn to the doorway of the room as Tom came down the last few steps – now wearing a checked shirt and carrying a coat and shoes – and shook his head firmly at them. “I do **not** get flashbacks. I remember bad things vividly.”

“Tom did two tours in Iraq,” Emma muttered to Paul, who had been staring at Tom with a bemused expression similar to one she suspected would occur if you were to try and teach Danish to a duck.

“Oh!” Paul nodded, his entire being seeming to light up in understanding and Emma had the distinct sinking feeling that he was, once again, going to put his foot in it. “Thank you for your service, Tom.”

“I didn’t do it for you.” Tom responded as he began to do up his shirt and then shaking his head again as he turned his attention to his son. “And I could have played the damn zombie game but I was over at the Skee-Ball machine trying to win tickets to help **you** get that RC car you wanted!”

“I wanted to have fun!” Tim snapped back, standing up off the couch and glaring stubbornly at his father.

“Skee-Ball **is** fun!”

“Skee-Ball **sucks**!”

“Hey…” Emma quickly fished a handful of Disney DVDs out of one of the bags and moved to stand between the father and son and turned to Tim, handing him the DVDs to look through. “We’re gonna have fun today. We brought DVDs, games, leftovers… Everything you need for a belated Turkey Day!” Tim nodded slowly, preoccupied with studying the back of the _Aladdin_ DVD case, so Emma turned to Tom and froze when she saw him sitting on the stairs lacing up his shoes.

“Right. You guys are gonna have a good time,” he said without much feeling as he finished lacing his shoe. “Hopefully you’re only gonna need to watch Tim for a few hours.”

“Oh. Well, when you called, I thought –“ The instant sense of disappointment that struck Emma in the gut as she thought through the implications of Tom’s words was almost overpowering enough that it seemed to filter through the entire room. “I see. This is **not** a family Thanksgiving thing. I am babysitting.”

“Well, Grace is out of town and I couldn’t find another sitter.” Tom glanced at Emma and shrugged as he pulled on his other shoe, misinterpreting the disappointment that was now clear on all three of the faces looking at him. “Look, I wouldn’t have texted you unless I had any other option. I’m sorry. I’ll try to be quick so you can get the hell out of here.”

“Okay.” Emma gave a series of quick successive nods, not meeting anyone’s eyes as she backed away towards the couch, repeating the single word with such insistence that it was painfully obvious to everyone that it was most certainly **not** okay, especially when she snatched the DVDs up from the coffee table where Tim had left them.

Tim, looking utterly crumpled and impossibly frail in his baggy pajamas, padded over to his father, his nine-year-old mind seeing himself as the last defense between his Aunt Emma and a complete breakdown. “Dad? I thought we were all gonna be here. Together?”

Tom, having finally laced his shoes, stood with a small sigh and looked at Tim, taking hold of his son’s arms with an air of overly cautious gentleness. “I have to go somewhere important, Tim. Okay?” Tim gave his father the deeply wounded and disbelieving look patented by all children unwilling to believe that they were not the most important thing in their parents’ lives at any given time and Tom almost felt himself giving in. Almost. “For your information…I need a new blade for my bandsaw.”

The Look didn’t leave Tim’s face for a moment as he stood staring at his father before turning and racing up the stairs. “Yeah. That’s **real** important!” came the shout from the boy’s bedroom seconds later.

“Tim? Tim!” The sound of a door slamming was the only response Tom got and he let out a weary sigh. Tantrums weren’t exactly anything new even when Jane was alive; he just didn’t understand how he seemed to be so much worse at handling them. And Emma and Christmas-Sweater’s joint judgmental expressions definitely were not helping.

“Wow. Great priorities, Tom,” Emma deadpanned, sarcasm practically dripping from her words. The only thing that was missing from the moment was a slow clap. “First the tools, then the kid.”

“I didn’t say that!” Tom snapped back.

“Well what are you gonna do for his birthday? Leave him at home and take the drill press to Six Flags..?”

“I don’t have a drill press. And even if I did, how would it fit into the Sedan?!” The two of them stood glaring at each other until Tom felt he had to concede that the drill press comment was not exactly what required focusing on. Shooting a quick glance up the stairs to check that Tim hadn’t snuck out of his room to listen to the argument, he lowered his voice just to be on the safe side. “I had to say **something** because I didn’t want to ruin the surprise!” As the other two adults’ expressions changed to blatant curiosity, Tom moved closer to them, away from the stairs and definitely out of Tim’s hearing. “I’m going to the mall to get Tim’s Christmas present, okay? It’s this new doll everyone’s been talking about, this little, uh…monster that you tickle…” From the way Emma’s face instantly brightened, he could tell he was finally on the right track and he even allowed himself a small smile.

“Oh my god, Tom! You’re getting Tim a Tickle-Me Wiggly?!” Emma practically squealed in delight, shocking Paul no end and prompting Tom to shush her hurriedly before nodding with a brighter smile on his own face than had been there in the days since the idea had first come to him. “He’s gonna flip! You must have pre-ordered that thing, like, six months ago!”

“Nah, Toyzone doesn’t do pre-orders. First come, first served.”

The excitement levels in the room dropped faster than a hot potato. “Do you…have someone holding your place in line?” Paul asked hopefully.

“What line? It’s six-thirty! I’ll get there ten minutes before the doors even open.”

“Tom…” Emma’s gaze was filled with sympathy as she looked at him and Tom could practically feel his stomach drop to his shoes with dread. “Look, I know you’ve kind of been shut in for a while, so you might not grasp the demand for this doll –”

“My buddy Bill tried to get one online,” Paul interjected as Tom turned to stare blankly at the picture of Jane that sat on the windowsill with one single thought going through his head as he looked at the smiling face of his wife, captured forever just weeks before it all ended.

_She wouldn’t have fucked this up_. He could barely pay attention to what the other man and Emma were saying over the sound of his own voice yelling in his head. “Are you guys pulling my chain..?” _She wouldn’t have fucked this up_.

There was silence for a moment and then Paul tentatively gave his reply, glancing at Emma. “Tom, at this point? I wouldn’t even bother going down there.”

“God dammit!” Tom closed his eyes tightly, unable to bear the sight of Jane’s smiling face judging his failure. _She wouldn’t have fucked this up_.

“You could get him, like…a Nintendo,” Emma offered, visibly shrinking back from the glare Tom gave her in response.

“He doesn’t **want** a Nintendo; he wants this doll! Is that too much to ask for?!” _She wouldn’t have fucked this up_. “Last Christmas, this kid lost more than any kid deserves. You wanna know what he was doing last year? He was sledding with his **mother**. And now, he…” Tom’s voice cracked and he paused, taking a deep breath. He had to hold it together, at least until these two were gone. He knew that thinking of Jane must hurt Emma too, but at least she had her damn boyfriend to cheer her up. He had no one… He turned away and grabbed his coat, tugging it on and refusing to look at the couple still huddled by the foot of the stairs. “This kid deserves to have one fucking thing that he asks for, so I’m not coming back into this house without one of those dolls in my hand,” he muttered vehemently, wrenching open the front door with far more force than was probably strictly necessary. “Because I will be god-damned if he does not have a merry fucking Christmas.” He stomped out of the house and dug his keys out of his coat pocket, opening the car that desperately needed a good wash which was sitting in the driveway. “And a happy new year!”

He backed the car off the drive, not bothering to return Christmas-Sweater’s half-hearted wave from the still open doorway of the house, and screeched off, heading into Hatchetfield and determined not to let anything stop him from getting a doll. God knew he’d already failed at more than enough in terms of his parenting in the last year; this was supposed to something relatively easy. And he **still** managed to mess it up. With each passing day and with each mistake he made it felt more and more as though Tim was slipping away from him and Tom felt his heart rate begin to pick up and his breathing become shorter at the mere thought of it – Tim was the only family he had left in the world; the only thing of Jane he had left in the world. Before this past year, they had been practically inseparable, Tim always rushing to show him some new childish discovery or begging to play, and the difference between then and now made Tom feel as though his heart would break. And it was all his own stupid damn fucking fault. If Tim never showed any ounce of love towards him ever again, Tom knew he more than deserved it. On his darker days, he would even find himself wanting Tim to shout at him, to never calm down from his tantrums, to remain angry and hate him forever: Tom knew he deserved nothing else. He was supposed to be the kid’s father, the one person he could count on to protect him from everything bad in the world, and instead –

A loud honk of a horn and a bright flash of lights blazing through the window made Tom slam down hard on the brakes as a delivery lorry pulled out in front of him. Tom gripped the steering wheel so tightly he thought he might never let it go as image after image ran through his head: dazzling lights, a blur of an unavoidable car, broken glass and crumpled metal everywhere and red smeared all over the place, Jane being hauled out of what remained of the car…

He rolled the car into a layby and stopped, breathing deeply as he tried to make his mind focus on something, **anything** , else. When that didn’t work, he reached over with a badly shaking hand and somehow managed to turn on the radio. It was playing that jingle again, the one for the doll. And somehow, miraculously, that did the trick. Images of Tim flooded his mind, slowly but surely burying the others: Tim smiling, Tim playing, Tim **happy** , Tim opening his Christmas present and finding the doll he’d so desperately wanted… Tom’s breathing slowly returned to normal and the shaking in his hands was back to manageable levels as he set off again down the road towards the mall, the jingle on the radio seeming to offer him encouragement.

No matter what, he was going to get Tim whatever he wanted. He was going to get Tim a Tickle-Me Wiggly. And then they might both be happy again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter ended up being much longer and more complicated to write than I thought it would be.
> 
> Next time, we meet everyone's favourite Hatchetfield teenage delinquents. Which should hopefully be fun for everyone.

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously, this is probably the stupidest idea anyone's ever had but dead-god knows it's not like this lockdown is giving me anything better to do. And it is surprisingly fun.


End file.
